


Meus Es Tu

by ReaperRain



Series: Ingens [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Jealousy, Kink Meme, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Size Kink, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-11
Updated: 2011-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperRain/pseuds/ReaperRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original DA K!Meme prompt: "M!Hawke has a tendency to forget his shirt. And or take it off. For whatever reason anon wants. He's got some sexy chest hair and a happy trail (pants hanging low on hips and sexy sexy happy trail) on top of all the sexy muscles and fine sweat from the heat.</p><p>Mostly I want people ogling. All LI's, and him and Varric being bros about the chest hair. Bonus points for Isabela and Merrill getting to run their fingers through the chest hair (happy trail in Isabela's case, probably). It ends with some sex. Preferably with Fenris."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meus Es Tu

**MEUS ES TU**

-

It was hot.

Kirkwall often was. It didn't usually bother Fenris – Tevinter had rarely been cold, and he could withstand physical discomfort better than most anyway – but at this time of year, even he couldn't shrug off the climate so easily. In the high heat of summer, the city baked under the unyielding sun, yet the warmth had a muggy, sticky quality that left everyone almost suffocating.

None suffered this more than their fearless leader. Garrett had lived in Kirkwall for a number of years now, and had resigned himself to the fact that white winters were but a fond Lothering memory. But he was still quintessentially Ferelden, from his sensible if unfashionable attitudes to his terrible cooking to the way he could and often did hold lengthy conversations with his mabari. His most damning Ferelden trait, however, was his inclination towards cold, wet weather. Enduring numerous Kirkwall summers had not changed the fact that, faced with unrelenting heat, he wilted like a dying plant.

Today was no different: the fierce weather had forced all of Kirkwall indoors, or at least into the shade, and Hawke would have been well-advised to join them. Instead, he and the rest of their ragtag group were heading back from killing troublesome bandits along the Wounded Coast. The outlaws had been heavily armed but overconfident that the Champion was out of commission. To prove them wrong, Garrett had turned up fully suited in massive armour, his giant frame a terrifying wall of destruction that had sent several bandits fleeing on the spot. Needless to say, the battle had been over fairly quickly.

Except now Garrett had to walk back to Kirkwall in his armour. Fenris, in his well-ventilated clothes, was still uncomfortably hot, so he could only imagine what it was like being completely encased in metal. Therefore he was concerned but not overly surprised when, during the journey, Hawke faltered in his step, wobbling dangerously. He was immediately ushered over to the shelter of a rocky overhang by the others, all asking frantically if he was alright. Garrett's fingers fumbled uselessly as he tried removing his full-faced helmet; Fenris darted forwards before any of the others could, lifting it for him. The man's cheeks were flushed red, dark hair plastered to his head with moisture.

Varric inhaled sharply, “I was wondering how you could cope with all that armour. Not great, apparently.”

“Why didn't you say something earlier?” Anders scolded, more worried than angry, “Overheating isn't something to be taken lightly. Get that armour off, you need to cool down.”

Garret half-heartedly pushed away any assisting hands, “I'm fine, Anders.”

“You're not fine, you're on the verge of sunstroke. Take the cuirass off, at least.”

Still, he hesitated. “But I always wear my armour... I don't feel right going without in public.”

“I don't feel right without my coat, but between that and passing out, I'll take the former,” said Varric, “Besides, the only public here is us, and we're all half-undressed anyway.”

True enough, even Fenris had relented and shed his gauntlets. The only ones who weren't wearing lighter versions of their usual attire were Isabela, who couldn't remove any more clothing without being naked, and Anders, who was in his full feathered regalia yet was seemingly unaffected by the climate. Probably abusing his magic or conspiring with his demon to stay cool. Damned abomination.

“It's common sense, love. Don't want you fainting on the way back,” Isabela agreed, “Because then we'd have to carry you and no offence, but you make Captain Man-Hands here look like a dainty princess.”

“Shut up, whore.”

“It was a compliment! Sort of.”

“I suppose I could take a few bits and pieces off,” Garrett mumbled, unbuckling his gauntlets, then shoulder-guards, and after some nagging from the others, the cuirass itself. It wasn't difficult to see why he'd almost collapsed: underneath the bulky metal was chainmail, underneath that was thick leather, and underneath _that_ was a cloth shirt which, it was revealed, was completely drenched in sweat.

“Ancestors, you're soaked through! I'm surprised you stayed upright for as long as you did. I'll bet you were roasting in there, eh?”

“You have no idea,” was the mournful reply as Hawke somehow packed away all his attire in the satchel he carried about, “It's essentially a giant cooking pot with extra spiky bits. Think I'll have salad for dinner tonight.”

“Hawke being roasted... hmm, _spit-roasted,_ ” Isabela gave a provocative grin, “I can think of quite a few people who would enjoy seeing that. Participating, even.”

Merrill blinked wildly, “There are cannibals in Kirkwall?”

“Different kind of spit-roast, kitten.”

“What other kinds are there? Wait – it's something dirty, isn't it?”

“Getting warmer... oho, _Sebastian_ knows what it means. Look at that blush!”

“I'm not blushing,” the archer insisted, despite a face that was rapidly matching his ruddy hair, “I'm just too hot, that's all.”

“Is that from the weather or the mental images?”

“Stop teasing him, Isabela,” Garrett chastised, albeit gently.

“You never let me have any fun.”

Aveline gave a resigned sigh, “That's because your idea of fun is to give everyone else awkward mental images.”

“Wait, _you_ know what it means? You're less cloistered than I give you credit for,” Isabela answered, honestly surprised, “Just imagine it, Big Girl: Donnic at one end, you wearing one of my insta-man devices at the other-”

“ _Isabela._ ”

“Tch, fine,” the pirate shrugged, while Aveline, Sebastian and everyone else blessed – or cursed, depending on your view – with an imagination spluttered wordlessly in the background. Fenris himself was tight-lipped; he'd quickly deduced what the term meant and wasn't terribly impressed. The thought of Garrett naked and wanton was pleasing, but the thought of sharing him with another was... not.

“Have you cooled down yet, Hawke?” Merrill asked, blissfully immune to any lewd imagery, “You still look very peaky. Maybe Anders could cool you down, he's better at that stuff than I am.”

“What? Oh – I guess a quick ice spell would do the trick,” Anders' tone turned sheepish, “But you'll have to, um, remove your shirt first. I don't want to accidentally freeze it to your skin.”

Fenris, naturally, did not approve of this idea. Partially because he didn't trust magic, least of all when it came from the hands of that abomination. But also – and he realised with some startlement that this reason outweighed the former – he wasn't keen on anyone else seeing Hawke shirtless. The man preferred baring as little skin as possible, another Ferelden quirk, and so Fenris was the only one of their group privileged to know what was under Garrett's clothing. And as he could freely admit, he didn't like to share.

However, Garrett was still clearly overheated, and Fenris wasn't about to make the man suffer to appease his own possessiveness. When Hawke glanced over at him as though asking permission, he grudgingly nodded.

Merrill's chatter, Isabela and Aveline's argument, Varric's teasing and Sebastian's flustered replies – all fell silent when Garrett reluctantly pulled his shirt over his head, the wet material clinging to him as it went. Despite the fact that Hawke wore massive armour and handled a claymore with little trouble, the sheer _strength_ of his body could only be appreciated when seen like this. Heavily-muscled arms, biceps easily as wide as Fenris' waist, battering-ram shoulders... and then, a torso so toned that it was almost angular, so solid that if you punched him in the gut you would walk away with a broken hand. All this was carpeted with thick, dark body hair, most prominent on his chest, which grew coarser and curlier as it travelled southwards, hinting at what lay beneath his breeches. Isabela called it a 'happy trail'; he'd always found the term silly, but having had first-hand experience of what that hair led to, he had to admit it was wholly appropriate.

What was _not_ appropriate was the fact that the rest of the group were now eyeing the trail, and undoubtedly thinking about where it ended. Aveline tactfully averted her eyes. Sebastian toed the ground anxiously, and Fenris got the distinct impression that he was mentally reciting the Chant. Varric had raised one eyebrow and Merrill had gone wide-eyed. Of course, Isabela was the first to speak.

“ _Well._ If I'd known this was what you were hiding underneath all those layers, I'd have talked you into playing strip poker years ago,” she announced, giving him the kind of look that stopped just short of sexual harassment. “Look at those abs! Look at that _hair._ ”

“You are _very_ hairy. I don't think I've ever seen that much hair on a human before,” Merrill nodded, “On anyone really, except maybe Varric.”

“I'm not sure whether to admire you or consider you my rival,” the dwarf said, absentmindedly scratching his own chest, “It's practically fur. No wonder you were overheated.”

Merrill lightly skimmed Hawke's arm and giggled. “It _is_ like fur! Oh, you're much less scary now, it's like you're a man-shaped grizzly bear,” she paused, “Although grizzly bears can still kill and eat you, so that's still quite scary, I guess.”

“Heh, it's just as well Kirkwall doesn't get much wildlife. You'd give all the lady bears funny feelings.”

“It's certainly giving _me_ funny feelings. Ooh, let me stroke it, Hawke? Please?”

“Rivaini! I feel betrayed.”

“Varric, you know I love your chest-beard. I only want to give Hawke a quick touch-up. Maybe a fondle,” she petted Garrett's chest.

“You know, I haven't actually given you permission yet,” the man pointed out mildly.

“Ah, but _yet_ implies you would have said yes anyway. You wouldn't be so cruel as to deny me,” she petted some more. And then Merrill joined in, though with wonderment rather than lust, and even Varric had a go and confessed that it was indeed very nice body hair. Fenris kept his touch and his words to himself, mainly because he didn't trust himself to speak without snapping at somebody. Particularly when Isabela's adventurous hands wandered further down the trail, and Garrett had to pointedly clear his throat.

But his blood really boiled, with a fire that far outmatched the sun, when it occurred to him that Anders hadn't started on his spell, or even spoken up at all. Glancing over at the mage, he realised this was because Anders was too busy staring at Hawke's happy trail, namely where it led. With a transfixed expression and a light pink dusting his cheeks that had nothing to do with the weather.

That abomination was ogling his lover.

That _abomination_ was ogling _his_ lover.

Fenris was Not Happy.

Fenris was still Not Happy when he and Hawke returned to Kirkwall. Anders had performed the spell without comment and dragged his gaze away when Hawke pulled his shirt back on; he'd followed the rest of the way to the city with a faintly gloomy expression that, at Varric's eagle-eyed inquiry, he'd blamed on tiredness.

Anders knew of Fenris and Hawke's relationship – who didn't? And while Fenris was somewhat smug that he had what Anders couldn't, the mage's behaviour had put him in a possessive mood. He'd first intended to see Garrett home before heading back to his own mansion, but instead he quietly asked the other warrior if he could stay for a while.

“So long as you don't mind entertaining yourself,” was Garrett's answer, “I need to take a bath or two before I end up smelling like the Hanged Man.”

Fenris mooched around while his lover freshened up. Hawke's bathtub was big enough for two... unfortunately so was Hawke, which meant sharing a soak was a no-go. Instead he roamed the estate, keeping a casual eye out for but definitely not intentionally looking for any signs of the abomination visiting recently. He only found a copy of that accursed manifesto, which he nonchalantly defaced. Eventually he headed to Garrett's bedroom; he removed the more tedious parts of his armour and sat on the bed, waiting.

Hawke strolled in not long after, looking and smelling considerably cleaner than before. His hair was flattened against his head, the odd strand clinging to his temples, but this time the cause was water, not sweat. Droplets still decorated his skin, glistening amidst the body hair. Fenris found his eyes following the lines of his torso, down, down... his trousers hung low on his hips, the v-crease of his pelvis clearly visible. If that didn't already give it away, the shape Fenris could make out beneath the flimsy clothing told him that Garrett had skipped out on underwear.

“So what did you want to talk abou-” with unnatural agility, Fenris had crossed the room and grabbed ahold of Hawke, trapping him in a fierce kiss. He pulled back only when he absolutely had to, leaving them both gasping for air. “- _Ah._ Not here to talk, then?”

“No,” he murmured, backing Hawke up against the wall. Shoving him into it might have better suited his mood, but it was quite difficult to shove Hawke anywhere unless you had the size and strength of an ogre. Neither tall nor wide enough to place his hands either side of that huge frame, Fenris instead reached up to grip Garrett's shoulders, pulling him down to meet his lips again.

They shared open-mouthed kisses as Fenris slid his palms down shoulders to collarbones, Hawke's warm skin still slightly slippery from the bath. He weaved his fingers through chest hair, collecting the excess dew. He followed the trail down his stomach, a path taken so many times before, the dips and curves of his abdomen long since memorised.

So the others – _the abomination_ – had seen Hawke shirtless. But they could still only speculate as to the man's lower extremities, whereas Fenris had exclusive access. Hawke was generously endowed... well, he was averagely endowed for a man of his size. But seeing as his size was twice, thrice that of a normal human, so then was his manhood. On any other occasion, Fenris would have hesitated at the waistband of those breeches, daunted by what he knew was inside. Even after their numerous nights together, the sheer _size_ of the man still left him... intimidated. But this was no time for skittishness, and so the elf slipped his hands inside without a second thought.

“You're eager today,” Garrett murmured into their kiss, “What brought this on?”

“Nothing worth thinking about,” he answered dismissively, wrapping his hands around the other man's girth.

“What, did my brush with sunstroke give you a scare? Anders' ice spell did the trick, he said I'll be fine – _ow,_ Fenris, slow down,” he winced when he was stroked too roughly. “Alright, stop for a moment. What's going on?”

Like his namesake, Hawke's gaze was piercing, driving away any lingering lust. Fenris withdrew his hands guiltily. “...It's nothing.”

“I find that hard to believe.” His voice softened, “You can tell me, Fenris. I won't think less of you for it, whatever it is.”

“I know.” Hawke was the very antithesis of judgemental, both his greatest strength and weakness. But he still wasn't sure how Hawke would react to his possessiveness – they'd only gone from drunken fumbling to actual sex a few months ago, and busy schedules meant it wasn't a frequent thing. Garrett had never demanded any displays of affection or commitment, so he wasn't sure how serious their relationship was, whether he even had the right to ask for monogamy. He phrased it as tentatively as he could: “Are you happy, with me? There's no-one else who has your... attention?”

“Of course not, why would you think tha-” Hawke raised one eyebrow, “Wait, is this because of everyone pawing at me earlier? I know Isabela can get a bit, er, _hands-on_ , but she doesn't mean anything by it-”

“Isabela isn't the problem.” The pirate flirted at anything with a pulse, he knew better than to take it personally. “It was the abomination.”

“Anders?” Garrett frowned, “He didn't touch me.”

“That's because he was too busy staring at you slack-jawed.”

“He was... what? No, I – that can't be right. He doesn't like me in _that_ way.”

Fenris crossed his arms, “He does now, apparently.”

“And you're worried that I'll take an interest in him?” When Fenris' silence spoke for him, Hawke sighed. “Even if Anders does have a thing for me – and I really don't think he does – it's unrequited. He's a friend, nothing more.”

Fenris would have preferred them to be enemies, but unfortunately Hawke was benevolent and patient enough to listen to the rantings of a possessed mage. “So you've never-”

“-Felt any kind of attraction towards him, no.” Hawke reassured him kindly. “There's no need for you to be possessive, nice as it is.”

That gave him pause; “It's... nice? But I thought I just hurt you?”

“Ah... you were a bit rough. You don't know your own strength sometimes.” Before the elf could shrink away, Hawke hastily added, “ _But_ you don't usually take the initiative like that. Seeing you in charge is... appealing.”

“Oh?” his lust from earlier returned full force, chasing away the guilt. “So if I wanted to take the lead right now, what would you say?”

If Hawke's widening pupils and breathy tone were any indication, he liked the idea as much as Fenris did; “I'd say _yes ser._ ”

He couldn't quite suppress his shiver at those words, the obedience, the _submission_. Perhaps as a former slave it was wrong for him to take pleasure in such things... yet he couldn't deny that having Hawke – scourge of slavers, bane of blood mages, conqueror of Qunari – subject to his every whim made his skin prickle with heat. When he spoke, his voice came out hoarser and lower than he had expected: “Lie down on the bed.”

Garrett hastened to obey. Fenris made his way over, his steps slow and sultry. He shirked his clothes one by one, leaving them carelessly strewn on the floor; Hawke followed suite, wriggling out of his breeches and idly kicking them off the bed.

“Legs spread,” Fenris murmured and his lover complied, displaying himself without inhibition. The bed dipped slightly with the elf's extra weight as Fenris, on hands and knees, _crawled_ over to Hawke. Not like a beaten dog, as he had crawled in Tevinter, but a predatory feline, intent on claiming what was his. The effect on Garrett was immediate. Being a man of larger proportions, it took a fair bit of foreplay to get all his blood gathered in the right place, hence why the sex was always a slow, languid affair, not that Fenris was complaining. But Hawke was already at half-mast, and he'd barely been touched.

Once he'd reached Hawke, without pause in his movements, he took the head of that cock into his mouth, eliciting a strangled gasp. He bobbed shallowly up and down a few times, his unflinching gaze trained on Garrett, who looked back, mesmerised. He'd done this precious few times so far, but careful observance had taught him what Hawke liked: swirling his tongue around the head, paying attention especially to the underside, then drawing back to suckle on the very tip and the pre-come that had begun to form. In no time at all Garrett was fully hard, the girth thickening in Fenris' throat as he sucked, forcing his jaws apart. Unable to swallow, drool leaked from his mouth, coating Garrett's cock. Undignified perhaps, but the man moaned louder still when he saw it.

“M-Maker you're good at that,” he panted as Fenris pulled back, admiring his handiwork – the head was red and swollen, glistening with pre-come and saliva. “What now?”

The Tevinter glanced at him, eyes half-lidded, “Sword oil.”

“Right,” the other reached over to the bedside drawer for the lubricant he had to constantly replenish. Numerous Lowtown weaponsmiths had asked, puzzled, how he used it up so quickly. Garrett's answer of 'I have a big sword' wasn't a _complete_ lie...

Much as Fenris liked asserting himself, he also undeniably enjoyed pleasing his partner; perhaps a throwback from his life of servitude in Tevinter, but he tried not to dwell on that. So even with the neglect to his own cock in favour of Garret's, he was still semi-erect just from catering to the other warrior. A few precise strokes while Hawke was busy, and he was fully equipped, so to speak, to get on with the fucking. Still, he was in charge today... it made sense to savour it, maybe even try a few new things. The view he was currently getting of Hawke's backside as he looked for the elusive sword oil was giving him an idea.

“- _There_ it is. Sorry about that,” Hawke turned back to him, giving him the bottle of lubricant.

“Hand me a pillow.”

“Hm? Oh, for better access, right?” he snatched one from the top of the bed, lifting his hips so Fenris could slide it beneath. His rear end now slightly elevated, he lay back, clueless as to Fenris' intentions.

Hawke was as hairy underneath as he was everywhere else, the entirety of his crack carpeted with dark, coarse curls; the only exception was a little patch of smoothness around the ring of his sphincter. He had his lubricant, he could just prepare Garrett and be done with it. But maybe he could try something a little different first...

When he drew near, breath misting against the patch, Garrett frowned at him. “Fenris...?” he tensed a little, his pucker doing the same, and Fenris couldn’t resist anymore. “What are you do- aah!”

His tongue darted out just once to flick lightly across Garrett's entrance. He was apprehensive at first as to how it might taste but found only cleanliness, tinged with the natural salt of his skin. It was only the texture that differed, more slippery smooth than the rest of the body.

Garrett was staring at him wide-eyed. “Well I've never had anyone do _that_ to me before,” he commented.

“Is it good?”

“I'm not sure.” Hm, that wouldn't do. He'd only briefly used his tongue, so perhaps he could still talk Garrett into it... “Try it again?” _Ah_ , no need.

He bowed his head again and began to lap against that patch in short, brisk strokes. Spurred on by Hawke's blissful sigh of “That's _definitely_ good...” he leaned in closer to change the pace, dragging the flat of his tongue against the warrior's entrance with one long, slow lick. And then, when he dared himself to go a little further, he pushed and wriggled the tip of his tongue _into_ Hawke, turning those low moans into keening cries and making Hawke squirm – making _Hawke_ squirm! – against the bed. His breathing grew ragged, his cock oozed pre-come, his muscles tensed-

And Fenris stopped, clenching his hand around the base of the other man for good measure.

Merrill thought Fenris had puppy eyes, but it didn't compare to what he was being given now. All Garrett needed was a wobbling bottom lip and the look would be complete. “What was that for?”

“You were going to come.”

“I was not! Well... alright, yes I was,” Garrett admitted, “But you're not supposed to _stop._ ”

“I wouldn't have done, but you have a track record of passing out afterwards. You've said as much yourself,” Fenris leaned forwards, voice low and rumbling in the way he knew made Garrett light-headed, “And I don't want you to come until I'm inside you.”

It was just as well he was still holding onto Garrett's cock, as the man's shudder of anticipation at the words may well have sent him over the edge.

“Grip yourself,” he ordered, seeing as he would need both hands free for this next part, “And don't let yourself come before I say so. If you do I'll be disappointed, and you don't want that.”

Hawke's hand took over Fenris' position, although he only needed his thumb and forefinger to encircle himself. “Why, what would you do?”

Fenris thought about this. Isabela often mentioned discipline as a fun thing; he personally didn't see how anyone could get off on it, but then he had a considerably different perspective. Intriguing – if puzzling – as the thought was, of Hawke _embracing_ punishment... he genuinely didn't want the man to disobey.

Which called for a genuine threat: “No sex for a month.”

Hawke's grip on himself tightened considerably.

Fenris was bluffing, of course, but Garrett didn't know that. He sincerely doubted he could hold out that long. He'd learned more about sex in the past few months than in the entirety of his life, pre-Danarius notwithstanding. Yet there was always more to discover and experiment with. Like that tongue thing – he'd have to ask Isabela for the name later – he wanted to see Hawke come from that alone.

…But not as much as he wanted to feel Hawke climax around him, so that would have to wait for another day. For now, an empty threat held Garrett's orgasm in check as Fenris liberally wetted his fingers with sword oil, and began his preparations.

It was a straightforward affair. Tempted as he was to look for Hawke's prostate, any more pleasure was likely to make the man explode, and truthfully Fenris was just as eager to hurry this along. One finger, then two, then three... Garrett was tight, but didn't have nearly as much trouble adjusting as Fenris had during their first coupling. He was large and Fenris' fingers were small and slender – no wonder, then, that there was no difficulty beyond a slight wince.

“That'll do,” he muttered at last, withdrawing his fingers and slicking up his cock, wiping the excess oil on the bedsheets. He shifted forwards on his knees and aligned himself with the other man's entrance. “Now put your legs over my shoulders...”

Garrett did so easily, due to the elf's comparatively diminutive form. Hooking one arm around a vast thigh for balance, Fenris used his free hand to guide his cock as he pushed forwards, into Garrett. No pain, just a breathy moan as the head pressed against the entrance; there was the slight bit of resistance from the body, forcing him to move slowly but surely until the head penetrated that well-oiled ring of muscle.

“Is that... alright?” he asked, somehow managing to sound calm and controlled despite the urge to simply start rutting.

“ _More_ than alright, just – by the Maker, keep going, _please._ ”

Encouraged, he pressed on further, sinking inch by glorious inch into the giant beneath him. It was warm – no, _hot_ , much hotter than he had expected, which suffused through him as though he were standing out in the sun. But the most prominent sensation was the pulse... Garrett was a big man with a big heart, literally as well as metaphorically, and every beat thundered through his body, straight into Fenris. The rhythm was on its own very pleasant, but greatly augmented by the notion that Garrett's heart beat for them both. That they were, at that moment, one entity.

He struggled, at first, not to simply grab Hawke's hips and plough into him. Gentleness was foreign to him, because he had never known it. All of Danarius' twisted affections had been tinged with violence, and so Fenris knew no other way to be. But Hawke had said not to be rough and he would do anything Hawke asked of him, anything.

Ignoring his baser desires, he used smooth, rolling motions, arching his back to get even deeper into Garrett's body. The concentration required worked up a sweat, and combined with the summer heat that leaked even into Hawke's airy mansion, there were soon beads of moisture dripping from his brow and jaw. Garrett was much the same, the cleanliness of his bath undone as his skin shone with perspiration. Intermingled with his hair, it gave him a rich musk that left Fenris reeling with pleasure.

The combination of it all – sights, sounds, smells, sensations – quickly built up. He could feel the lyrium humming beneath his skin, at his fingertips, in his teeth. Above the white noise he barely hear himself speak: “Are you close?”

That got him a mix between a laugh and a groan, fingers still tightly encircling the base of his cock, “Fenris, I've been ready to come for the last ten minutes.”

“Oh-” in his effort to please the man, he'd forgotten that he'd earlier forbidden him to come without permission. Guiltily, he revoked it: “Let yourself go.”

With a sigh of relief, Garrett removed him hand, reaching his climax almost instantly afterwards. With his legs still over the elf's shoulders, his release spurted upwards; long, thick ropes of white painted his thighs, plus Fenris' chest and throat. With a final growl the Tevinter himself came deep within that tight, pulsing heat. His markings flickered then flared uncontrollably, and for a second Hawke was awash with blue light. He looked so peaceful, so content, and Fenris couldn't help but feel a spike of pride, knowing that he was the cause. That, and he was the only one who had seen Garrett like this, so utterly satisfied – and he'd _stay_ the only one, if he had his way. Hawke belonged to him. Not to Anders, or Isabela, or anyone else, but to _him._

“I should strip in front of Anders more often, if this is what it leads to,” Garrett murmured once he had found his voice again, already sounding drowsy.

He knew the man wasn't being serious, but he scowled regardless. “Don't you dare.”

“I know, I know. I wouldn't.” His foot trailed affectionately down Fenris' chest as he lowered his legs, smearing some of the splatter there. “Only for you.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Fenris answered, his sour tone sweetening into a rare playfulness. Hawke gave a low, amused chuckle and then, in his typical fashion, promptly passed out from exhaustion.

He did that every time. That didn't make Fenris feel any less smug.


End file.
